


he needs some milk

by kiryuluvr



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: M/M, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 12:28:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29384880
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiryuluvr/pseuds/kiryuluvr
Summary: i hit backspace maybe 3 times writing this and it was just to correct typos
Relationships: Thomas Armitage/Solomon Tozer, Thomas Jopson/Edward Little, William Gibson/Cornelius Hickey
Comments: 12
Kudos: 8





	he needs some milk

**Author's Note:**

> hello lgbt community

“Hello everyone, welcome to the Holy Ghost Boys Club!” John said to the group in front of him. Being a college boy, the thought of hooking up with a random person crossed his mind for a second as he looked around the room, but being a Christian, he knew he had to save himself until marriage, but being gay, he knew that anyone he got involved with romantically or sexually would have to be a man if he were to enjoy it, and being an Aquarius, he had a contrarian streak that made him refuse to be with a woman out of necessity for hiding, and being a college boy, he knew people wouldn’t judge him for not marrying before the age of 35, but being Christian, he wanted to uphold family values, but being an Aquarius, the contrarian streak and prevented him, and being a college boy, and gay, his unwillingness to put himself through an unfulfilling relationship did too. He was so fucking horny and his mind was working at 500000mph constantly. 

“Good morning, sir!” a guy in the front almost-yelled enthusiastically. His eyes look like the ones on that creepy doll I used to have as a kid that would give me nightmares but in a weird cute kinda way, John thought. A really hot guy next to him with enormous sexy sideburns and beautiful brown eyes wearing a black jacket that looked really soft, with an overgrown yet extremely flattering haircut, broad shoulders, and obviously wearing his work shoes to the meeting (wonder what he works as? he seems like he would be good with his hands) looked at him for like a second and then went back to dissociating. Hm, probably mentally ill homosexuals, he thought, suddenly remembering he needed to pick up his Cymbalta when he left this meeting. 

“So I wanted to start this meeting off with a song my friend’s band, called the Disciples, made specifically for this club.” John looked at the desktop PC in front of him which was connected to the Smartboard, and hit play on the Facebook video, but the sound wasn’t working. “Sorry, guys,” John said, using the little white remote to turn the volume up, but it didn’t do anything. Fudge, he whispered to himself as he snooped around the sound settings on the computer. It was such a good Christian parody of Lay All Your Love on Me by ABBA, Pray All Your Love on Me. About 2 minutes into him trying to get the sound to work, a man who looked half dead spoke up. 

“What’s your sign?” he asked. 

“I’m an Aquarius,” John said. 

“Me too!!! Aquarius supremacy.” 

“Um. I don’t think it’s right to judge people based on zodiac sign.” 

“That’s what it’s there for, man.” 

“What’s your name?”

“George but everyone calls me the Hodge cause my last name is Hodgson and I’m kinda the coolest guy in my friend group.” 

“Ok, George. What brings you here today?” George looks to the guy on his left (with even bigger sideburns than the guy from before, not as objectively hot but with incredibly kind eyes, making him immediately wonder whether or not he would be a good boyfriend: was he single? was he straight? no, don’t think about that) and the guy looked INCREDIBLY nervous. 

“Well, my friend,” George says, looking at the guy next to him briefly, “told me it would be cool for us to come here cause of my newly found interest in spirituality and philosophy, hence why I asked you what your zodiac sign is. Cause like, I listened to Dark Side of the Moon by Pink Floyd for the first time two weeks ago, and I was like, avoiding it was such a mistake, cause I know I only avoided it cause it’s popular and I’m an Aquarius so I’m naturally trying to go against the grain, but the album really opened my eyes to new realities. Have you listened to it and watched the Wizard of Oz at the same time?” His friend next to him spoke up.

“I mean, I think it’s healthy for people to meet up with other people in real life to discuss these things, instead of, like, anonymously online,” the guy with the giant sideburns said. 

They sat in silence after that comment, John still fumbling with the sound settings on the school computer, ready to give up and move onto the beginning of the meeting, when he heard loud, like loud, frantic footsteps heading towards the door of the classroom, and in the next second, a guy walked in. A really really really really really hot guy with slightly curly hair and a beard, who was totally built under his red denim jacket and BROCKHAMPTON shirt, looked at John’s eyes with his (green) eyes, (which temporarily distracted him from looking at his hands, which gave John thoughts and feelings he absolutely did not want to be thinking or feeling at the moment) and suddenly the original Lay All Your Love on Me by ABBA made complete sense to him, for some reason. Oh, yeah, there’s a guy with curly hair next to him. Kinda twinky, pass, John thought, not consciously, but deep inside the gay part of his brain. He wondered if they were dating with the same part of his brain. He didn’t notice he was thinking about this, so his only reaction was to welcome them. 

“Hello, boys,” John said. Fudge, did that sound too gay? He doesn’t wanna come across as gay, or desperate, or fruity, or horny. He was a strong Christian MAN who worked out twice a week. 

“Hey,” he said, his friend dragging him gently by the arm to sit together on the far left side of the room, behind George and his nice looking friend whose name he never learned. The twinky guy pulled one of the chairs-that-are-also-desks closer to the one he was going to sit in, and the hot guy sat next to him. John suddenly felt an immense, crushing pain in his heart, too overwhelming for him to actively acknowledge but too big for him to ignore; it felt as if his heart was being slowly dehydrated like a date, but without the date-y texture and specific kind of sweetness, so it was more like his heart was a gross prune or something. 

John swallowed, trying not to throw up or cry in pain from the horrific twelve-headed beast inside him gnawing at his insides, and reached into his pocket to grab his little monkey shaped stress ball (who he had called Jacko), when suddenly the sound on the computer started working and the Facebook video of Pray All Your Love on Me by the Disciples played, full volume. 

I wasn’t zealous before we met  
Now every night I pray to Jesus  
Before I go to bed

The hot guy with the BROCKHAMPTON shirt whispered to his “friend” and they both laughed, their heads still really close together, and John wanted to die so bad. Do not use the Lord’s name in vain, he reminded himself preemptively. 

As the song played, BROCKHAMPTON shirt and his twink friend, his dark curly hair shining just a little, he obviously takes good care of it, it’s kinda cute, gag, whispered to each other and gave each other glances, and John tried his best to ignore it. He looked again at the guy with sideburns and the soft sweater, and at his pretty brown eyes that were looking off at nothing in particular, and wondered about his work again. A part of him deep down inside wanted to touch his overgrown hair because it looked so nice, but he didn’t want to be a whore, or a fruit, or a slut, or a homo, or a sodomite, or a harlot. 

He looked towards the back of the room, at a big man, who also has enormous sideburns (why do so many of these guys have sideburns? is it a coincidence? are sideburns in? did they coordinate this?) writing something with great focus into a little notebook he had with him. He was wearing a Talking Heads t-shirt with a long sleeved shirt on underneath it, and he could see how big his arms and shoulders were from across the room, and he absolutely did not allow himself to look at that man’s shirt because that would mean looking at his chest which he could already see from the corner of his eye, and he would definitely be sent straight to supermegahell if he allowed himself to look at it directly. He’s not sure when he actually found out it was a Talking Heads shirt. More men should be bears, the subconscious openly gay part of John’s brain thought. Definitely mentally ill, definitely homosexual. 

The song ended, and there was a second of silence, before some skinny guy with straight blonde hair at the back of the room started clapping and whistling like a weirdo. 

“Gay rights!” he said, and the skinny guy with curly brown hair next to him cringed, super slightly so it was barely visible. 

“Excuse me?” John said. 

“Christian ABBA parodies are one of my interests actually, it’s pretty niche but I’m obsessed with them. Have you heard The Sinner Takes It All by the Magdalenes?” John blinked and didn’t say anything for a few seconds. What...?

“I have not,” John said, finally. The blonde guy had a weird smile on his face that made John want to call him slurs. 

“That’s too bad, do you have Twitter? I can DM you my favorite ones. You can follow me if you want, my @ is cornelias spelled C-O-R-N-E-L-I-A-S, that’s my Snapchat too.” 

“Is that how your name is actually spelled?” George’s kind-eyed sideburned friend asked.

“Of course not, but it’s my brand. I have a lot of fans, a handsome man like you could understand. What’s your Snapchat?”

“Well, it’s nice you found a community of people online who seem to want to know what you think, and whatever. I don’t use Snapchat.” 

The blonde man made a weird face at that, some kind of smile that also made it look like he was going to snap at any moment. Scary, John thought, looking at BROCKHAMPTON and his twink because @cornelias was upsetting him, getting upset looking at BROCKHAMPTON and his twink for different reason, then looking at the guy in the Talking Heads shirt in the back, getting a little bit turned on so having to shift his gaze again, looking at George’s handsome, kind-eyed friend, feeling his heart go a little weirdly soft so having to look away again, looking at the guy with the sad, pretty brown eyes, and soft, overgrown hair, and soft, slightly oversized sweater, and his eyelashes, and his sick, sexy chops, and having to divert his gaze yet again because it was making him feel disturbingly as if he was going to start melting and dripping like wax onto the ground in front of everyone, and then at his friend with the creepy blue eyes, which he couldn’t look at for very long because he felt like he was looking at a feral rabbit that could shoot lasers out of its eyes, and then at George, who made him feel really weird but in an acceptable way. He just stared at George. 

Is his hair naturally that blonde? He’s decently handsome, even if he does look like the lead singer of an ABBA progressive rock cover band. His nails are painted black, really badly. Did he do it himself? Most annoying men who listen to Pink Floyd aren’t really into that kinda thing, right? Most of the men he knew who liked dad rock were boring, but he seemed to be... different from them. The subconscious gay part of his brain knew it was his gaydar going off. John didn’t notice the literal bi flag pin on his jean jacket, or the dangly earring on the gay ear, but he sure did notice the badly painted nails. 

“Hey,” a voice said, as if for the tenth time. He snapped out of it, finally, and looked towards the voice, and his eyes were brought directly to the handsome twink with the curly hair, who was now literally holding hands with Mr. BROCKHAMPTON. John found himself on the very verge of syncope. 

Oh my Lord (with a capital L, NOT in vain) he was going to have to text his homoerotic best friend Malcolm about this when this meeting was over, cause if he doesn’t his brain will overheat and melt and leak out of his ears. He swore there was a vignette around his vision and a ringing in his ears. If it was the 19th century, John was sure he’d be one of those dramatic women who needed a fainting room, although much deeper down he knew he would probably just be some severely repressed man whose homosexual tendencies are inevitably found out in the form of letters sent to his best friend. 

“Hey, mister, you ok?” asked BROCKHAMPTON shirt. 

“Yes, quite indeed I’m doing fine. Are you?” The guy gave his twink boyfriend a weird look, then looked back to John.

“Yeah, I’m good. You’re looking kinda pale, man, you wanna sit down?” 

“Oh, no I’m fine, let’s go on with the meeting!” John said. 

“You’ve been standing there for like, legitimately 3 minutes, ever since @cornelias tried getting us all to follow his stan Twitter,” George’s kind-eyed friend said, having stood up and walked next to John at some point. He placed a hand on John’s shoulder, and it felt like it could burn through his sweater and leave a handprint there if he gripped any tighter. All it did was bring him closer to the verge of perdition instead of raising him from it. 

“Oh, ok,” John said. He looked around the room again. The beautiful man with the enormous sideburns and brown eyes he could fall into forever and soft dark hair who was wearing his old work shoes was whispering intently with his “friend” who looked like a vintage porcelain doll with hidden supernatural abilities. Their arms are touching. Oh, their arms are touching and not moving away from each other, they’re just sitting like that. John couldn’t do this. He blacked out.


End file.
